


Grip

by lorielen (culuyetille)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-07
Updated: 2011-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-23 12:21:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/culuyetille/pseuds/lorielen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus ruminates the events while waiting for the Dark Lord’s summons. He cannot unravel himself from Draco’s company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grip

Severus’ scowl deepened when he felt cool fingertips tracing the back of his hand, the shape of his knuckles. His hand was clenched in a fist, his grip so tight it hurt, for it bloody well _should_ , had he not just cast the killing curse on Albus Dumbledore.

He wished to tear apart his lungs and drench the air with his anger; he did, however, choose the same course of action he’d opted for so often in the past. It was much wiser to tightly seal his lips, make his chest a dam of sourness and silently accept that he was in a shabby, dusty room of a seldom-used hideout, waiting for the Dark Lord’s beckoning. Attached to his very personal space was one Draco Malfoy, whose charge events had led him to be burdened with. The boy was playing an old game, exercising the boldness Severus could keep no Malfoy of trespassing on him with.

Snape’s skin was a sickly, yellowish shade, the veins and arteries green-blue, deathpale. Draco’s hand was all too youthful atop his, unmarked and perfectly manicured. Severus wanted to whisk his hand away from the invading touch, coil in his bitterness, but the Malfoy by his side was horrified and meeting Lord Voldemort entirely too soon after being found unable to finish what had been demanded of him, and Draco was much too young and beautifully carved for the throes of War and nobody else could reach out to brush their skin against Severus’ with quite so much intimacy.

His charge was not looking at him, apparently too entranced by the way fingernails disappeared in the respective fingers, and Severus quietly admitted he’d long forsaken any say on the Draco Malfoy matter, and that it was likely to get him killed or other equally displeasing turn of events.

He would not sigh. Rather, he left his fingers sprawl over the mildly rotten seat space between himself and the boy. Draco’s fingerpads were soft and pinkish against his uncut fingernails. As the boy toyed with his stirring-chopping-peeling-slicing-measuring-hexing-marking-jynxing-killing hand, Severus idly deigned the silence kept as a sign of maturing. He thought also that Draco was scented vaguely like coffee and sugary pineapple even after battle and running for his very precious life, and that was quite the way to smell amidst a War approaching its darkest times.


End file.
